Me, You, Them, and Us
by xkuramaxhieix
Summary: A mistake is made. One Sanji deeply regrets. Told from four different perspectives. AU
1. Me

Disclaimer: One piece and all of the characters belong to Eiichiro Oda. I don't own them.

A/N: So, this is my first OP multi-chapter fic. I think this story will have about six chapters in total.

Please read and review!

* * *

If you asked Sanji what started all of this, he would be quick to point the finger at the damn moss head. It was his fault after all.

Talking to damn moss head was sometimes like talking to a brick fucking wall! Sure, Zoro paid attention, and he knew the man cared for him, but sometimes, sometimes, Sanji felt...spiteful.

Zoro did things that annoyed Sanji to no end, and when Sanji mentioned it, he knew Zoro tried to fix it. But sometimes, Sanji didn't want Zoro to fix it! He just wanted to beat the fucking shit out of him and call it a day. Sure they sparred, but to him, it didn't really satisfy him as much anymore. He wanted to fight when they were angry! He wanted to not have to worry about anything else except for beating the shit out of each other, but Zoro loved him, and wouldn't fight him, unless they were sparring. Sanji knew this, no matter how hard he tried to piss Zoro off.

He fucking hated Zoro.

After their latest fight over something so fucking stupid he couldn't even bother to remember, Sanji had stormed out of their apartment, ignoring Zoro's calls after him. Fuck that shithead, self-righteous, moss headed little prick! He was fucking over it! He was going to show Zoro! He'd show that piece of shit he was better than him!

Sanji was so angry, he was practically shaking.

He stomped down the street, suit crumpled from a day's work at the Baratie, a restaurant his adoptive father owned that he worked at as a chef. Sanji didn't know where he was going, but anywhere was better than home where that idiot was probably waiting like a loyal dog for him to come home. Fucking predictable marimo.

Sanji didn't even stop to question himself when he walked into a local club. He didn't even bother to think when he stormed up to the bar and ordered a glass of their hardest liquor. Hell, he was so angry, he didn't even notice the very pretty woman sitting next to him. Downing the first glass, he ordered another, and another. By his fourth glass, he had mellowed out, thanks to the alcohol, and it was then that the woman had decided to make her move.

She purred "What's the matter, handsome? You look upset." Sanji turned to look at the woman, and was stunned. What a woman! Long, curly brown hair cascaded down her shoulders in a shower of ringlets and curls. Her body was magnificent, soft curves in all the right places, with a bust just the perfect size for squeezing and groping. If Sanji hadn't been with Zoro, he would have definitely done everything within his power to get her into bed with him. Sanji shook his head and said "I had a fight with Z-...my lover." The woman laughed softly and said "Poor thing, here, let me get you a drink." She then ordered Sanji another drink.

As he sipped at the drink morosely, the woman asked with that same seductive lilt "What was the fight about, if you don't mind my asking?" Sanji answered as a reflex, more than anything else "Of course not! A beautiful lady that wants to hear my story? I'm flattered!" She laughed, and said "Quite the charmer, I see. So? What was your fight about?" Sanji snorted and said a little drunkenly "Something stupid. Honestly don't remember what me an'that shit head marimo fought about." If the woman was surprised that he was gay, she didn't give anything away. She said softly "Oh dear, you poor thing." Sanji nodded in agreement, and grumbled "Let's talk about something more pleasant, my beautiful lady, like what brings you here?"

* * *

Several drinks later, Sanji was very drunk, and very into the pretty girl he'd been conversing with all night. Zoro was nothing but a distant memory. He was so happy drinking with the woman, and her flattery was so nice, he couldn't help but wonder what he'd been thinking, dating Zoro. Women were much better, softer, kinder, and definitely more understanding. So it was no surprise that when she'd offered to take him to her place for the night that he'd more than readily accepted. Getting to his feet, he held out his arm for the lovely lady, trying desperately to not sway.

Stumbling out into the night with the woman, he laughed as they waved down a cab to take them to her place.

"Oi! Shit cook! Where the fuck are you going?!"

Sanji, in his drunken haze, looked up to see his lover standing a good thirty feet away looking worried and confused, his brow furrowed as he saw the cab. Sanji shouted back "Where's it look like, dumbass?" Before Zoro could respond, his lovely companion stuck her head out and questioned "Sanji? Are we going?" Sanji grinned at her and said, managing to not slur his words "Sure beautiful, just gimme a sec." He turned to Zoro, and smirked, sticking his middle finger up at Zoro, he said sounding smug "Later, shit head." He got into the cab and it drove off, leaving Zoro behind outside of the club.

If Sanji had been sober and less angry, he would have hated himself for what he was about to do to Zoro. But, drunk as he was, he could only think '_Good, let that shit head worry._' It didn't matter to him that as he'd left the club and Zoro behind, Zoro had looked hurt. Like- Like he might cry. Zoro never cried. Ever. He was too tough and full of pride and shit, for that. But that expression then...it was like Zoro had heard some horrible news and was about to cry.

Sanji didn't feel any sadness, or remorse then. He had just simply thought that now Zoro was going to feel the restlessness, the anger, the irritation with their seemingly stagnant relationship. It wasn't that he didn't love Zoro, don't misunderstand, he loved Zoro more than anything, but this relationship felt like it was missing something. It was like the spark in their relationship had died, and everything just felt…..routine, boring. For some reason, that pissed Sanji off to no end. It was like, why couldn't Zoro stop being such a fucking wimp and fight him? What had happened to the Zoro that was hot headed, and easily riled up by a few insults from Sanji? What the fuck had happened to Zoro? It was like the man had killed off that passion, that fire, the very reason Sanji had fallen in love with the man in the first place!

Maybe that was why he was following this woman home and taking her clothes off. Maybe that was why he was sleeping with her and not his lover. Hell if he knew for sure though.

What he knew right now, was that these moans weren't Zoro's. This body, soft and pliant under his hands, wasn't scarred. This chest, soft and full, wasn't hard as steel, and didn't feel like velvet under his talented hands. Her cries, so vocal, like Zoro, but there was no cursing, no swearing, no "shit cook!" no "Fuck! Do it like that!" There was no teasing response from his lips, only gasping breaths and the woman's cries of "Yes! Yes! Oooh, yes!" and her pig like squeals of pleasure. He knew when he reached down, he wouldn't be jerking off Zoro's dick, he'd be touching soft pussy.

She wasn't Zoro.

And he fucking loved it.

Sanji pulled out with a grunt, spilling his seed all over the small of her back, as she orgasmed beneath him. Together, in a sweaty mass of limbs, they collapsed on the bed, passing out in a tangled heap, the smell of sex and sweat choking the air.

* * *

The next morning found Sanji waking up earlier than his bedmate beside him. At first, he'd thought it was Zoro, the haze of sleep confusing him, but when he'd wrapped his hand around her waist, intending to wake his lover with some morning sex, he'd found pussy instead of dick. It was as if he'd been doused with a bucket of water, because everything came rushing back to him. Sitting up with a sudden jerk, he stared down at the sleeping woman in horror.

Had he really?

Sanji studied the woman and realized with a feeling of dread that yes, yes he had.

Sanji was going to be sick.

Staggering to his feet, he managed to find a bathroom before he dropped to his knees and emptied the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Wiping his mouth, he flushed the toilet and got to his feet. Rinsing the taste of vomit from his mouth, he straightened up and turned to look back at the woman in the bed behind him.

Not Zoro.

What had he done?

Fuck!

Sanji had been angry, but he hadn't realized he'd been that angry. Sanji, in a daze, wandered over to sit back down on the edge of the bed. Resting his head in his hands, he furiously gripped his hair. What had he done? God! He was such a fucking douche bag! He'd slept with some- some woman while knowing that he was with Zoro. God, he fucking loved the man, how could he do this?

As angry as he was, Sanji couldn't help but think bitterly _'If you fucking loved the moss head, you wouldn't have gone to a bar, gotten shit faced drunk and slept with some fucking woman._' God, Sanji felt like such a fucking asshole. Not to mention he was hungover as all hell and he had a pounding headache. Getting to his feet, Sanji finally seemed to reach a conclusion. He needed a fucking smoke, and then he'd apologize to Zoro, repeatedly, and beg for forgiveness. Then they could talk this out like reasonable adults, and life would continue like it always had and he wouldn't make the same mistake again.

With that plan firmly in place in his mind, Sanji set about collecting his clothes. He dressed hastily, as if he couldn't get out of there fast enough, which, coincidentally, was true. He couldn't.

Once Sanji was dressed, he took one last look at the sleeping woman. He paused, seriously considering waking the woman and thanking her for last night. Sanji snorted quietly, wasn't he ever the fucking gentleman? With a shake of his head and the realization that he didn't really care what she thought because this wasn't going to happen again, he left.

Sanji flagged down the nearest cab that he could find, and gave the cabbie the address to the apartment he shared with Zoro, with a promise of a little extra if the man got there quickly. Paying the cab fare, and the tip, he watched the cab speed away. Looking up at his apartment building contemplatively, Sanji felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He couldn't do this. He was terrified of doing this. Shaking his head, he chose to instead take a cigarette from the pack in the breast pocket of his rumpled suit and light one up. Stuffing the pack and his lighter back in his breast pocket, he took a deep breathe, using the familiar motions and the nicotine to help calm his nerves. He'd need it, with what he was about to do, he'd need the nicotine. He owed Zoro an apology. Big time.

By the time he was on the butt of his third cigarette, Sanji realized that he was stalling.

Fuck.

Sanji took a deep, shaky breath. He was fucking Sanji Black! He wasn't a fucking coward! He could do this! He would do this! He had to, or he'd never forgive himself and Zoro would hate him forever.

With that steely resolve in mind, he put out the butt of his cigarette. He then found himself marching into the lobby of their building, waving casually at the man behind the front desk, and stepping into the elevator. Riding the elevator up to the eleventh floor, he stepped out of elevator and took a left, going down the long hallway until he reached the apartment number marked '1123'. Staring at the door for a brief moment, he willed himself to pull out his key and open the door. Hesitantly, he placed his key in the lock, but found he couldn't quite bring himself to open the door just yet.

He was afraid.

What if Zoro didn't want him back after this?

What if Zoro left him?

Or worse, what if Zoro hated him?

Sanji couldn't stand the thought of Zoro hating him, but he knew, that if Zoro did indeed end up hating him, he deserved it. He was such an ass to Zoro, he wouldn't blame the other man if he ended up hating him. He hated himself right now too.

With a firm, and not so steely resolve, Sanji pushed the door to their apartment open, only for the words of apology to die in his throat.

Their apartment was, in a word, a _mess_.

Everything in the living room was _destroyed_.

The couch was hacked to bits, their coffee table lay in ruins, pictures of Zoro and him throughout the years lay scattered about the floor, some of the framed pictures were even broken. Sanji was shocked by the state of the place, it was as if someone had come in and ransacked the place! It was with little relief, and a sickening feeling in his gut that he realized that his kitchen was perfectly untouched except for shattered glass from several glasses and bottles, as well as the mess of what looked like some leftovers he'd cooked for a meal earlier in the week.

Their bedroom however, was a different story. The bed was demolished, feathers, shredded bedding, everything was scattered everywhere! All of their clothes were strewn about the place, like a mini hurricane had come through. Sanji normally would have thrown a fit that his suits were on the floor, and wrinkled, but that didn't bother him.

No, what bothered him most was that on the wall, they'd placed a special set of hooks where Zoro could hang up his three swords when he wasn't using them for sparring, or for competitions. Those were gone. Gone.

As Sanji walked further into their destroyed bedroom, he could see that Zoro's duffle bag was missing, along with some of his clothes, or that's what Sanji assumed anyways, he couldn't really tell with the destructive mess that Zoro had left behind. Besides, Sanji knew his lover too well. The swords were gone too, which meant Zoro was going to be gone for more than a night. He always brought them with him if he was going to be gone for more than a night, his swords were that precious to him. Only, this time, this time Sanji realized that Zoro had taken his most valuable possessions, the swords with him.

Fuck.

He'd really messed up, and now, now-

Zoro was gone, and he wasn't coming back.

Sanji cried.


	2. You

**Disclaimer:** One Piece and all of its' characters belong to Eiichiro Oda, I don't profit off of it at all. Just writing fanwork for it and all that. xD

**A/N:** Oh man! Sorry it took so long to update guys, forgive me? I've been super brain dead, and only bits and pieces of this chapter would come to me. That, and I'm working on another one shot has been bugging me for some time. I've been devoting a lot of my time to it that it pretty much sapped my creative juices for awhile! But, I think I may be sort of back ish now!

* * *

Things haven't been right between the two of you for some time, and you know that.

You can tell in the way he looks at you.

_He's itching for a fight._

The kind of fights you used to have with him when you were younger, in the high school and the college years. The kind of fighting that lead to bruises, curses, screams, blood, and really, really fucking great angry sex afterwards.

But, it was maybe a couple months ago after the amazing angry sex that you realized that hey, you're tired of that sort of sex. Great as it is, it leaves something that feels empty in you, and yet so full at the same time. Empty because if feels meaningless. Full in that it fills your stomach with works that seem determined to make their way out of you through every possible orifice they can find. You don't want that feeling anymore.

So, you stopped rising to his baiting whenever he tried to bait you, and dammit if he didn't. You wanted to rise so badly to the baiting that a part of you ached to give back as good as you got, but you didn't. You didn't want to have a relationship with him like that. You wanted the adult relationship, one of equals, not of rivals. It's not that you wanted some relationship that was particularly frilly or like dating a girl. No, you still wanted to be able to talk to the shit cook like you did know, just without the fighting.

Yeah.

At first, you had been content, happy, with the way things were. You still yelled at him just like he would yell at you, only there was no fighting, no angry sex, and it was great! The vigor he poured into the sex was amazing, just like the ferocity and tenderness you poured into the sex. It wasn't like their younger years, but it was better, and you couldn't help but think that yeah, you liked this new relationship, and yeah you could get used to it.

But he couldn't.

Sanji was the stubbornest son of a bitch that you've ever met, and sometimes, when he's set in a way, he refuses to see anything but this path that he's laid out for himself, regardless of whether it's right or wrong. You can't blame him for that, you really can't. That stubbornness is part of the reason you fell in love with him in the first place.

But even you weren't the greatest with restraint. One day, he came to you look for a spar, so you acquiesced and gave in, but when it came to the angry fighting, and the angry, but great hate/love sex, you were firm in your refusal.

Sanji didn't like that. He'd screamed at you, cursed you, insulted you, said every mean thing he could think of short of personal boundaries to try and get you to rise to his baiting. You could be just as stubborn as he was, in fact, people had said that, besides your terrible sense of direction and skill with your katana, that was one of your strong suits. Stubbornness. That was probably how you'd managed to last in a relationship with Sanji. He tried to push your buttons, you refused to have them pushed, and you were like stubborn waves, crashing into each other, and collapsing together.

Sanji would nitpick sometimes, insulting you for your bad habits, like drinking out of the carton instead of using a cup, so, you tried to change that, hoping Sanji would calm down and settle into this adult relationship. Sanji didn't. When he'd realize what you were doing, he'd nitpick about the next thing, and the cycle continued. As maddening as it was to have your every little habit picked over, You understood, you knew why Sanji was nitpicking, but you refused to rise to the baiting.

Until one friday night, you wanted to watch a sword fighting tournament on tv, and Sanji wanted to go out to a club.

"Just record the fucking show, and lets go out, stupid marimo!" Sanji had shouted angrily.

You had thought that Sanji looked absolutely adorable in his crumpled suit and mussy hair. Like a pouting child. That had made it very hard for him to get angry with Sanji. So, instead, you'd calmly said "The sword fighting tournament has Dracule Mihawk fighting in it, and I want to watch him fight." Otherwise, you'd probably forget and never watch it. You had always admired Mihawk, you wanted to beat him. You were still an amateur, hardly any good, and definitely not good enough to face Mihawk in a fight just yet, but you'd tried when you were younger and in college. He left you with that scar on your chest, the one that Sanji liked to kiss and lick and worship whenever you had sex. You were proud of that scar. It reminded you of how far you had come, and how much farther that you had to go.

It made you feel strong. Powerful.

Sanji had thought you were stupid. He'd told you that every single day in the hospital, and yet, from the start of visiting hours to the end of visiting hours, he'd be there to keep you company. Sometimes he'd even bring you food if he felt like it. You knew you were lucky to have him. It was part of the reason you'd wanted to stop that horribly angry and amazing hate/love sex. You wanted to show him how much you loved him, appreciated him. It wasn't a significant reason, or even something you'd thought of at the time, but now, months later, you realized it. You wanted to show Sanji that there could be more to this relationship than anger, sparring, and throwing punches, kicks, or swinging blades. That there was more to the two of them other than fighting, screaming, and anger.

So, you told Sanji honestly "But it won't be as good as watching it live. Because watching it live makes me feel like I could be there. Like I'd be in the ring one day." This was true. You liked watching it live because everything felt more real, more vivid to you. Even if it was through a television screen, you still felt like you were there in some way. Knowing it was just recorded and that you were watching it later than everyone else had just took away from the experience for you, something Sanji normally understood. But you could tell from his expression that he wasn't in the mood to pretend, or try to understand tonight.

Sanji practically shouted back "What the fuck does it matter if it's recorded or live, it's the same fucking thing! There's no difference between watching it live or watching a fucking recording! Why don't you fucking stop lying and just say that you don't want to go out to a fucking club tonight!"

You can't help but protest "That's not true, and you know it Sanji! I always go when you want to go!" You do, and even though you hate clubs, Sanji loves them, so you go because it makes him happy. Plus, dancing with Sanji can be kinda nice, especially when he's not mad at you, trying to make you angry, or being all noodley over the pretty girls in the club. You like dancing with Sanji, so you always go when he says that he wants to go. Today was the first time that you've ever told him no, that you didn't want to go.

Sanji snarls at you "Fine! Stay home and watch the fucking match! I'll go out and fucking dance! With human beings! Instead of sitting on the couch every fucking day and gathering mold!" Sanji storms out, and you call after him "Sanji! Oi, shit cook! Come back, Sanji!" But he ignores you.

So, instead of going after him like you want to, you choose to wait instead, to let him simmer down. You figure that Sanji will go to a nearby club, get a few drinks, and he'll be drunk enough for you to take home. Maybe he'll mellow out by then, or maybe you'll give in and fight him just to get the angry hate/love sex that Sanji craves from you. So you stay home and wait. You'll go get him in a bit. If he doesn't come home on his own that is.

So you sit on the couch and watch your match, keeping an eye on the clock during commercial breaks at the same time. An hour goes by, then two, and finally, four hours later, the tournament is over, and Sanji still isn't home yet. So, you decide that maybe you should see if you can find him. Once you've got your shoes, your keys, and your wallet, you leave the apartment, heading for the nearby clubbing district. You know how to get there so well because Sanji's beaten the directions into your head so thoroughly that you can't get lost. Plus, you follow the clubgoers, using the smell of smoke and alcohol to guide you as well.

By the time you reach the district, you start wandering around, unsure of which club your wayward lover has wandered into. There were too many to count, and you didn't want to accidentally miss him in case he left the club he was in while you were inside another one looking for him.

It was purely by chance that you see the cook coming out of a club, a pretty brunette on his arm, half-supporting the drunk cook. You shout, hoping to catch his attention "Oi! Shit cook! Where the fuck are you going?!"

You watch as he turns his drunken attention to focus on you, sort of. The cook is so drunk that you're pretty sure you can smell the booze from here. You see the pretty brunette girl ignore you in favor of your drunken lover.

Sanji, in his drunken haze slurs "Where's it look like, dumbass?"

_He's leaving with another girl._ You realize. He's going to go with that girl and sleep with her. You feel like the breath has been knock from your body, like you're drowning…..choking. Like you're trying to inhale when there isn't any where to breathe. What it looks like, is that your lover is leaving. With a girl. A very pretty girl. Before you got together, Sanji had been very straight. Sanji had chased after girls like you'd chased after your dream of beating Mihawk. But then Sanji had ended up with you, and you'd thought that, yeah, this was nice. Maybe even nicer than beating Mihawk, and later, even than challenging Mihawk and losing spectacularly.

You realize that he's deliberately going with her, drunk or not.

You can feel your heart breaking into a million pieces, and it feels like the pieces are being ground into dust in your heartbreak. Watching Sanji leave with that pretty girl is what makes it worse. Your heart _hurts_. So much that you could cry, but you don't. You're too strong to cry, too determined to not cry.

You watch him get into the cab, you watch him leave you.

And you know.

Something in your relationship has been broken.

When the cab is no longer in sight, you stiffly turn around and walk home, like a soldier, marching off to war, but instead you're marching home, trying to hide the tears that a weaker man would have let fall by now.

When you reach home, you stand in the doorway to the home you've shared with Sanji for so long. Suddenly, you're angry. Shutting the door to the apartment shut with a bang, you storm into the kitchen. Throwing the fridge door open, you take out a chilled sake bottle that Sanji had bought for you as a present. Draining the bottle in one go, you throw the empty bottle against the wall, listening to the satisfying sound of the bottle breaking. You're not drunk. You're not even buzzed. That wasn't nearly enough to make you feel anything. Taking another bottle, you chug down the alcohol, not caring what it was. After that bottle, you definitely feel something.

As the salty tears run down your face, you finally break.

Screaming in anger, in agony, you rip all the food from the fridge and throw it at the walls where the empty bottles hit. Slamming the door to the fridge shut with a bang, you storm into the bedroom, aware that you're crying, but unable to stop the tears. You walk over to the swords hanging on the wall as both a decoration, and a celebration of your favored sword style, the Santouryuu. Without thinking about it, you grab the three sheathed swords and toss them on the bed. From the closet, you dig through it, trying to find the carrying case you used to carry the three swords in public when you were going out for a tournament.

But you can't find it, so in your frustration, you rip the clothes from the closet, tossing them all over the place until you find it in the back of the closet. Tossing the box on to the bed, you gently put two of your swords into the case. Slinging the case over your shoulder, you hold onto your beloved wadou, a gift from your sensei after Kuina's funeral. You still haven't wiped the tears from your face.

But the sound of Wadou slipping free from its' sheath soothes you a little bit. Without even thinking about it, you slice the bed in half, destroying the bed that you and Sanji have made love in a countless number of times. It means nothing to you, not in light of recent events. After that, you leave the bedroom, and with a primal scream of range, you destroy the living room. You cut the couch to ribbons, the coffee table is cut in half, and the expensive entertainment system you bought Sanji for his birthday a year ago falls upon your blade with a satisfying crunch. You destroy the dvds, cds, both yours and Sanjis. You don't care what you destroy as long as it feels the pain, the anguish, the anger you feel. You want to hurt something as badly as Sanji has hurt you, and yet, you know you won't ever turn your blade on him. You love him too much to do that, regardless of how badly he's hurt you.

You don't think you're better than him, not by a long shot, but you love him, and regardless of how badly he's hurt you, you won't hurt him back for it. But you know that what Sanji's done, you may forgive him for it in the future, when you're not hurting, but you'll never forget. Never.

Zoro could forgive, but he could never forget.

Sheathing Wadou, he had enough presence of mind to grab his phone charger, and with that, he left the apartment quietly, as if he hadn't just destroyed his home. It couldn't be home.

It wasn't home.

Not anymore.


End file.
